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COPXRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



SONNETS 

TO 

B. B. R. 

BY 

LABAN LACY RICE 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1921, by L. L. Rice 
All Rights Reserved 



^3 






u^"- 



Made in the United States of America 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



AUG 25 1921 
g)C!.A622549 



TO 
BLANCHE BUCHANAN RICE 



SONNETS 



SONNETS 



Life has its passions that enthrall the soul, 
Lifting it high above all common wants ; 
The herd, with avid taste, sets for its goal 
And, mindful of naught worthier, loudly vaunts. 
Two have I had and still have — you and books: 
Great passions both, soul-sanctifying, strong 
To uplift, dynamic, scornful of mere looks 
And show of earthly tinsel, babble and song 
Of frippery. The lesser passion, books, 
A consecration of the soul's estate 
Entails for life, a heritage that brooks 
No rivalry, save wherein soon and late 
The greater passion, you, outreaches it 
Investing life with glory halo-lit. 



II 



Beloved, in loving me you have forsworn 

What many w^omen deem beyond compare. 

Have you — my soul would know — e'er wished 

unborn 
That love your soul for mine sweetly did dare? 
Has life, for love, had showers of regrets, 
Windfalls of heart-pent grief and temptests dire 
Of subtle remorse, that error-like begets 
A brood of fancies ruthless with desire 
To run with heaven's hounds? O dearest soul, 
If aught I've been or am — or must be still — 
Has checked your proud aspirings toward the goal 
Of highest happiness, to His just will 

I suiiFerance leave. . . . Above, if not below. 
May you love's sweetest recompenses know ! 



Ill 



I question not your right to ask of me 

How much I love you — love is woman's life; 

So take forthwith, I pray, this golden key 

Of simple words, shaped not in heat or strife 

Of jealous passion, and unlock my heart: 

Therein you'll find I love you with the strength 

Of mighty resolution upheld in part 

By bold intent to parallel the length 

Of your own love for me. . . . And more, you'll 

find 
I love you with a passion tense as thought 
Forged in the smithy of some titan mind 
At whose behest world-quaking deeds are wrought. 

So much, in truth, I love you can't you see 

My love eternal-fruited is to be? 



IV 



Behold the landmark! See what changes time 
Has wrought. Just here the wooden stile on which 
We used to rest. Yonder the post, wild thyme 
Still clustering at its base, in it the niche 
I carved deeply that day about our names 
While you stood near and watched. , . . But look, 

love, here. . . . 
This weather-stained impression — Oh, not fame's 
Own mark so sweet a memory or more dear 
Could bring me! — yes, your name . . . carved by 

my hand! 
O soul I love, the chrism of that day 
Is still upon me . . . these faint letters and 
This holy place incline my spirit to pray 
That heaven's over-arching destiny 
Round out in our twain lives full harmony! 



lO 



When I recall the heavy weight of years 
That bowed your spirit powerless still to break; 
And glimpse again thru soul-dissolving fears, 
Potent to set the stoutest heart a-quake, 
The darkened room, the pain-racked form, you seem 
As one released from Death's foreclosing hand 
By miracle. . . . For often as in a dream. 
Like characters traced in the inconstant sand, 
I catch dim visions of a wistful face. 
Pale against snowy pillow, lustrous eyes 
Piercing my very soul intent to trace 
Therein the confidence that death defies. 

Life triumphed and your prisoned soul set 
free. ... 

But only thru love's puissant decree! 



II 



VI 



What moments do I prize the most, you ask? 
Those gracious times when others with sweet praise 
Of your good deeds a noble heart unmask 
And towering minarets to your love upraise? 
Or those fleeting, red-human moments when, 
We two close-lipped exchanging sweetest vows, 
I sense the beating of your heart, again 
The subtlest passions of your soul arouse? 
No — those rare interims of silence deep 
Wherein my soul with yours communing finds 
The unbridled joy that roams the fields of sleep, 
The ecstasy of God-inspirited minds. 

Grant me such moments, Heaven, and I forego 
The fruits of pride, vain pomp and earthly show. 



12 



VII 



If you perchance survive my love-crowned day, 
Grieve not for me as one who says farewell 
And turns his face to distant lands away, 
Never again to see you and to tell 
What love means and what life is and is not 
Without you. ... If God beckons me first, O 

heart 
Of hearts, remember that the destined lot 
Of all who love as we is that they part 
Only to reunite somewhere in God's 
Great universe and parallel the life 
They knew on earth — not always free from clods 
And stones and thorns, from malice, rancor and 
strife. 
If I go first, bethink you just a day 
Must lapse . . . then we shall be together alway ! 



13 



VIII 

Love has its seasons four of rich estate: 

Its luscious prime when passions flush the soul 

Surging with riotous joy, yet never sate; 

Its staid maturity wherein the goal 

Of feverish yearnings crossed, life normal runs; 

Its middle age of calmly-featured bliss 

Lovely as placid countenance of nuns; 

Its red-ripe days, like fruit we soon shall miss 

Tenuously quivering on an aged tree. 

Two of these weathered, into third we glide 

Tranquil as vessel on a summer sea 

Oblivious of storm and roaring tide. 

Why fear the last? Since we together cling, 
We can, assured, defy old age to sting. 



14 



IX 



This faded bit of paper ambered by time 

And charactered in words conventional, 

A message brings than which nor rune nor rime 

Of poet to me could be more magical. 

Do you recall it, love, that formal note, 

The first of many your deft fingers penned ? . . . 

"I shall be pleased to accept." . . . Ah, how it 

brought 
To my impetuous soul favor reverend ! 
For, as a suppliant takes from queenly hand 
The gage his gracious sovereign vouchsafes. 
So I, an artless lover, naive and 
Rival-abashed, your answer. . . . O never waifs 
Of fortune sweeter syllables drank in: 
My soul was sick its love-tryst to begin! 



15 



Did not the past hold full security 

That love o'ermasters age and scorns decay, 

My soul, outraged, would flout the purity 

Of God's high purposes nor faith essay 

In noble living. The modest violet 

Queens it in fragrant beauty a few brief hours 

Then yields to mother earth — and we forget; 

Man's vast stupendous works, the mighty towers 

His vanity has reared, some day must fall; 

The heavens themselves, like flimsy parchment 

scroll 
Whereon are thoughts that myriad hearts enthrall. 
The mighty hand that made them shall uproU: — 

But love like ours knows not obscurity, 

God-gendered, it preempts futurity! 



i6 



XI 



Unlike in much, O gracious heart, we still 
In most are like. Upon the surface lie 
Our differences so clearly traced who will 
May read. Deep-bedded where no prurient eye 
Dare gaze are those more subtle likenesses 
That God and we behold. 'Tis they in-form 
Our souls, unerring charts and compasses 
Supply, for holier living furnish norm. 
Bold heresy — the many-mouthed charge 
That in divergence of taste lies amplest hope 
Of wedded joy! The truth is, where the marge 
Of like and unlike thinnest grows the scope 
Of bliss is widest. Therefore joy in this: 
Our love thru likest tastes near-perfect is. 



17 



XII 

Dearest, I can not hope to pay the debt 

With which my soul is charged. Would you have 

me, 
Thru love's quit-claim, eternal bankrupt be, 
Therefore love's pauper? How shall I offset 
The largesse of your soul? How hope to match 
In sweet intensity your passion's fire 
Or, lifted high above earth's flushed desire. 
Visions your soul discovers expect to catch? 
Love's debtors wear no chains. Huge prison gates 
Immure them not. Access to the throne room 
Is ne'er denied; nor fear they word of doom 
Since love forgives even the soul that hates. 

Mortgaged to sweet desires, impoverished suitor. 
Let me live on, therefore, your soul's great debtor. 



XIII 

Were I to love you with my eyes alone, 

Guilty of high treason I should be. 

Forbid, sweet Heaven, such fatuity — 

My senses thus my reason to dethrone ! 

Beauty to many women, loveliness 

Of soul to few is given. Beloved, in you 

I find confederate these graces two, 

Like sisters of unequal comeliness. 

The younger, of earthen mould, sweet deference 

pays 
To her whose loveliness is heaven-bom, 
As sombre shadows of the early morn 
Recede before the sun's advancing rays. 

Treason, therefore, of me shall claim no 
dole. . . . 

Because I love you with both eye and soul. 



19 



XIV 

Happy the land, our wise men say, that breaks 
Not with its past. Happy likewise the course 
Of love that knows not rupture, nor heartaches 
That rend lives twain and paralyze the force 
Of conjoint effort. Nature with means diverse, 
Lavish of power, may glorify the earth 
With light and w-armth or lay it under curse 
Of the storm's wrack. ... So life and love from 

birth. 
Days there have been — a few — when our frail bark 
Seemed drifting, perverse, on a treacherous sea 
Of foolish misunderstanding: — but the dark 
Winds hushed quickly and soon unto the lea 
Where Love holds his eternal court we came. 
Strengthened, close-bonded and purified thru 
shame. 



20 



XV 



What can I hope to give, O gracious heart, 
In full requital of your bounteous love? 
Words seem inept and thoughts I would impart 
Sicken and pall the more I strive to prove 
What else would rate me but a thankless clod 
Insensate, lost to every finer touch 
The grace of which makes man akin to God, 
High-souled, deep-passioned. , . . Love, I would be 

such 
To match with perfectness your passion's flame. 
Which like to that of sacred Vestal glows 
With force undying, yesterday the same 
As now, next year, forever — maugre woes. 

Alas, a beggar I, little can offer 

While you with queenly wealth rich largesse 
proffer ! 



21 



XVI 

They lie who say that love a spendthrift is, 
Else you and I are bankrupt. Put the test? 
So be it, dearest, for, though oft confest, 
A lie is still a lie. God's truth in this — 
Our love has grown by so much as we've given 
Each to the other. . . . Paradox, you'll say, 
Yet truth thru paradox is God's own way 
To the world's heart. . . . Lovers like us driven 
To bankruptcy for lavish giving! The gold 
Of Ophir and of Ind, Al Haroun's wealth, 
Abdullam's fabled treasures heaped by stealth. 
The pearls of Afric and of isles untold: — 

In love's own coin all this we've given — even 
more, 

And still love has vast fields of virgin ore. 



22 



XVII 

Child of no strange romance, sponsored by no 
Mischance of fortune, our love its course has run, 
Placid, for most, like isles where soft winds blow 
Beneath blue skies under the tropic sun ; 
Troubled, perchance, when will against will has 

clashed — 
Even the great Olympians knew discord — 
Gently, not as the pitiless waves that lashed 
To ruin some dauntless sea-faring horde; 
Forbearing amid the round of daily toil, 
Not warping or warped, as planets sometimes may; 
Forthright in courtesy, needing no foil 
For its own homely joys serene as day 

When winds are hushed and the sun hangs low 
in the west 

And tired earth warns man it is time to rest. 



23 



XVIII 

Too soon the day will come — if Heaven ordain 
I must survive you — when like shattered flower, 
Untimely sped by frost in evil hour, 
I shall behold you gaoled in Death's domain. 
Why may not we, as those twin stars of night — 
Conjoined in rhythmic movement, life to life. 
Like souls of perfect lovers void of strife — 
That pale and disappear from mortal sight, 
Thus, having orbed ourselves in human ken, 
Our tiny cycle of existence run. 
Our devoirs rendered, common duties done. 
Together at Death's gate adieu to men 
Regretful Bid and pass, soul wed to soul. 
To Heaven's portal, man's divinest goal? 



24 



XIX 

Forsooth, I wish you other than you are! 

Why such a question, dear? What subtle change 

Bethink you thru love's holy avatar. 

By processes devout and passing strange. 

Might make you sweetlier coveted? . . . Suppose 

Your beauty like the morning's radiance, 

Your eyes as lustrous as a full-blown rose, 

Your voice with melody at variance. 

Your mind scintillant as the stars at night — 

Would these bring added loveliness to your soul? 

This is your jewel, precious to me as light 

To one benighted. Beauty is time's dole 

And mind is loveless . . . your soul is my 
star — 

Why should I wish you other than you are? 



25 



XX 

Grieve not that some will lightly rate our love. 
Envy, like hawk, was ever wont to seek 
His quarry, darting swiftly from above. 
Malice, alas! makes short shrift of the meek, 
While slander with his serpent's tooth dares all 
To set his deadly fangs in beauty's form. 
These can not harm — for Love has built a wall 
Encircling us and canopied lest storm 
Assail — so be it we keep inviolate 
The mighty passion, heaven-kindled flame 
That recks not any quenching, and consecrate 
It to love's uses. . . . Then let who will cast blame ! 
In this, dear heart, lies our security: 
That love is wisdom, all else fatuity. 



26 



XXI 

My soul did hold high carnival that day, 

Amid the trappings of exultant love, 

When sickened, tortured, maddened by delay, 

I pressed you for an answer and you wove 

About me with three words of magic power 

The golden meshes of affection rare 

As one might count the moments of an hour 

Spent in God's paradise. Oh, wondrous fair 

The universe that day! The clouds to me 

Were brothers, and like them I spurned the earth, 

Soaring where only souls newly set free 

By love requited, thru a second birth 

Enter that holy realm we know must be 
Fair charted in the soul's geography! 



27 



XXII 

Beloved, in loving you I am twice blest, 
Both giver and given, infallibly approved, 
Since loving you I am by you beloved 
And, therefore, love's darling doubly confest. 
If to receive is lesser blessedness. 
Then nobler, you, for who gives more is nearer 
God. Content, though, I with the far dearer 
Portion of sweet love's own loveliness; 
For foolish were I to vie with you in this. 
As fabled Marsyas who with Apollo strove 
For mastery, since life to you is love 
And love means giving. Mine the double bliss. 
Therefore, of loving you, my soul-approved, 
And by you richlier still being beloved. 



28 



XXIII 

Often I wonder why you love me so; 

How scatheless the frail vessel of your life 

Has plowed tumultuous seas with rich cargo 

Of purest love; how thru the welter and strife 

Of clashing elements, the flotsam, all 

The treacherous derelicts that foul the course 

You've sailed serenely on, heeding the call 

Of that great pilot, love. . , . And when, perforce, 

Your voyage ended, you have crossed the bar 

And do not find me waiting on the shore, 

Turn your eyes seaward and not very far 

In the offing my rude bark sea-drenched and sore 

Bereft you'll find . . . for know, your love shall 

lead me 
Thru life, thru death — yea thru eternity! 



29 



XXIV 

Fie, love! what need is there of sophistry 
To plead my cause? Do not receding years 
Afford your soul release from mordant fears 
That I may tire in love's sweet ministry? 
Question your heart. Do you believe its love 
For me, thru the past years so richly given, 
So chaste you have no need of being shriven, 
Will ever wane? Shall coming years disprove 
Your oft-protested vows? If so, perhaps — 
I'm only human, dear — my love might tire 
Of voicing its deep passionate desire 
For you. . . . But fie! so long as Heaven caps 
The earth with beauty your love will abide 
And my own love for you naught shall betide. 



30 



XXV 

When I am dead and men perchance dilate 
Upon the earthly deeds my hands have wrought, 
Beware lest you, emotion-mastered, prate 
Like silly child. Say merely that I fought 
Open and fair scorning the coward's hold — 
Thus and no more. Millions have done as well; 
Why babble of deeds, which are as tales twice-told 
And therefore irksome? . . . Let who dares retell! 
But this, since love not deeds your theme must be. 
To the winds fling bidding them waft afar: 
The love I bore you ever seemed to me 
My soul's great passion, holy as the star 
That led the Magi across desert space 
And piloted the shepherds to His face. 



31 



XXVI 

I have been conscious ever thru the years 
Of subtle changes wrought by daily use 
In both of us, changes that seemed to fuse 
Our differences, purging idle tears 
And, thru accord of souls, grounding all fears 
Of ever-widening interests, clashing views, 
Which love's sweet confidences so abuse 
That time instead of greening only seres. 
And now, what of the years that lie ahead? 
Shall custom stale them and drab usage dull; 
Must we in them discern a glory fled 
And find, the kernel gone, life but a hull ? 

Folly, the thought! where love has wrought so 
well 

Nothing save death our happiness can knell. 



32 



XXVII 

And do you never tire of hearing me 

Repeat the oft-voiced phrase? Is love to you — 

Beshrew me if I utter word untrue — 

As breath to life, as depth to rayless sea? 

So be it, and w^ith sweet celerity. 

As when one sips delicious nectar-brew, 

I phrase the words precious as honey-dew: 

I love you . . . you . . . yes, you . . . just you 

only! 
What magic lurks in words, what power behind 
Their subtle chemic force when linked with love 
Can open to the soul, as sight to the blind, 
Visions of what the angels know above? 
Oh, now I pray that you may never tire 
Of hearing words shall match your soul's desire! 



33 



xxvin 

Whatever grace these halting verses claim, 
I yield it solely unto you, my Muse. 
Ah, now I comprehend why Beatrice' name 
To Dante was of so divine a use! 
Your comeliness deserves a nobler pen ; 
Your loveliness of soul, more gracious lines 
Than these I trace or dare to trace again. 
Envisaging to my soul in sweet confines 
Of thought the image of yourself potent 
To evoke from silent depths my meed of praise. 
Unworthy I, 'tis your strong love has lent 
Me winged hopes and taught my spirit to raise 
Itself aloft in realms of poesy 
Illumed, sustained by golden fantasy. 



34 



XXIX 

How dear the little tricks young lovers use! 
Crafty ogling, clandestine messages, 
Cryptic remarks, mysterious signs, gages 
Of passion shrouded as soul of a recluse. 
Do you recall them, dear, the precious notes 
Slyly exchanged when our love yet was young, 
The parting glance amid the churchly throng, 
The darkling whistle trilling from our throats 
Ecstatic as the mocker's call to mate? 
O golden days when love took love on faith, 
When grief was insubstantial as a wraith 
And hope, divinely clad, was laureate! 

Dearest, life without memories shrined as ours 
Is like a garden fair wanting sweet flowers. 



35 



XXX 

Life has its mysteries so subtly spun 

We aye live in a welter of surmise. 

In you, beloved, I find such mystery, one 

More luring than the heaven-light in your eyes. 

A thousand times I've plummeted your soul 

And times ten thousand trailed your furtive thought, 

Only to find in searching for the whole 

Of you infinitesimal portion, naught 

Save what the surface is to ocean's deeps. 

'Tis true — love has so wrought that we are one, 

Yet into your sweet depths I peer as peeps 

Into earth's all-excluding depths the sun. 

Enigma you, abysmal, subtle, profound. . . . 

Less or more would I love if your soul my mind 
could impound? 



36 



XXXI 

Thru all the ages men on high emprise 
Have sallied forth buoyant with hope divine: 
Captains of lordly troops in phalanxed line, 
Sailors in gallant barks of merchandise, 
Discoverers of new worlds, statesmen wise. 
Inventors, great philanthropists, in fine, 
All those, elect of earth, who never decline 
Combat or peril intent to grasp the prize. 
Such high adventure likewise have I known 
Within the realm love claims as his demesne. 
Transcending aught chivalric knight may own 
Of prowess waged in honor of his queen. 

For to have won and kept such love as yours 
Is emprise perfect, one that grandly lures. 



37 



XXXII 

My soul today is like a buffeted ship 

Seeking the quiet haven of your love. 

The dun clouds lower and the mad w^inds whip 

The roily waves to fury. But above 

The elemental clash of wind and wave, 

Clear sounding as the tones of silver lute, 

I hear your reassuring voice and crave 

The harbor's refuge where the winds are mute. 

Oh, what if my frail bark drift from i'is course; 

If storms of passion hurl it on the reef; 

Or winds of vain caprice with pitiless force 

Toss it about as autumn gusts the leaf? 

Courage, and yet more courage, O my soul. . . . 

How sweet the thought of rest beyond the goal! 



38 



XXXIII 

And yet, my soul no "de profundis" lifts, 

Since your strong love has kept me from despair 

And over-arched me with such tender care 

I have had little need of other gifts. 

Perchance had you — O heart, forgive the 

thought. . . . 
As well expect the sun forget to shine, 
Or mighty ocean in a sieve confine ! 
But that your deep afifection in me wrought 
Such faith as topples mountains, ladders builds 
To heaven's gate, the dead brings back to life, 
Surcease invokes of fratricidal strife 
And cynic doubts contaminate yelpings stills, 
My love, my life, my all had proved sterile — 
Out of the depths I should be crying still. 



39 



XXXIV 

O what is love that over me your sway 
Is rhythmic as that of moon on earth's wild tides? 
Whence comes the power mighty to allay 
The mad unrest that in all hearts abides? 
True miracle is wrought — but how? Is there 
Amid the spheres some vast magnetic force 
From which, two souls each unto each laid bare, 
Streams energy that warps them from the course 
Of single effort merging the twain as one? 
Or must we truckle to drab science and say 
That, sense on sense impinging, love is none 
Other than lowly child of common clay? 

Let who will answer. . . . This is certainty: 
Invincible love vouchsafes you sovereignty! 



40 



XXXV 

Why should you think, beloved, your work in vain? 
If what thru many toilsome years I've wrought 
Withstands corroding time, none will disdain 
Your ample portion of the honors sought. 
No great deed ever saw the light of day 
But S(Mne true woman sponsored it. Think not. 
Therefore, to lurk within my shadow. Lay 
This sweetly to your anxious heart : that what 
Desert is yours I scorn to claim. Could I 
The serried phalanxes of toil have faced, 
Inspiriting love denied me? Or what high 
Turrets have scaled by your strong faith not braced ? 

Oh, the little is much when love is the priceless 
leaven, 

For it's just the difference, sweet, between earth 
and heaven! 



41 



XXXVI 

How shall I match the music of your heart? 
In vain I touch the strings of my soul's lyre. . 
Discord mars all. O love, to me impart 
Your subtle skill so that my soul may quire 
Its passions deep in unison with yours! 
Sweet as the notes of mock-bird singing at eve 
To cheer its nesting mate, your music lures 
While my coarse strains seem but a make-believe. 
Am I but echoing voice, a poor, sick soul 
Whose cadences are faint? Like viol cracked 
Must I in broken music find my dole. 
The fate of all by lethal discords racked? 

Oh, love, again I lift the heartfelt plea. . . . 

The secret teach of your soul's melody! 



42 



XXXVII 

Great Men have known great loves in ages past 

Eternalized in song or deathless verse: 

Paola and Francesca, passion-aghast, 

Untimely sped by Malatesta's curse; 

Dante and Beatrice of heavenly mien ; 

Petrarch and Laura; Brutus and Portia brave; 

Browning and his beloved — poesy's queen; 

Marc Antony, fair Cleopatra's slave. . . . 

Loves worthy and unworthy: let them stand. 

Like these immortals fealty I proclaim 

To love's enthrallment ; kinship I demand 

For that my love is great as theirs and fame 
As rightly mine, since love from low estate 
Exalts a lover to high heaven's gate. 



43 



XXXVIII 

If Death should steal upon me unaware, 
Grieve not with vain regrets your life away, 
For naught avails the tense, febrile display 
Of sorrow. Why your happiness forswear? 
Death's but an incident of life, a rare 
Transcendent moment when thru rank decay 
Of plasmic mould the soul, released, its way 
Wings swift to higher realms. ... I know not 

where. 
In this find healing for your anguished heart: 
That Love his mighty will in us has wrought, 
Thru many a year welding us part by part 
Indissolubly one in purpose. Taught 

Thus richly to know life thru gracious love 
Our souls, rejoined, eternal troth shall prove. 



44 



XXXIX 

What wealth is mine, beloved, in loving you! 

Not he of Lydia whose Pactolean gold. 

Heaped high in brilliant Sardis, to withhold 

The Persian hordes was impotent, is due 

Supremacy. Nor he of Agra who. 

As mighty tales and legends do unfold ! — 

How little need herewith to be retold! — 

The Taj with matchless glory did endue. 

Such wealth, dear heart, with mine can not compare, 

Whose mintage is of heaven where love abides; 

And as the sands are scattered by the tides, 

So Mammon's goodly heritage must fare. 

But love, which is my wealth, untouched shall be 

By aught I ween of dread fatality! 



45 



XL 



When memory, unveiling silent years, 

Pale phantoms of a past long dead reveals. 

Into my soul a ghostly rabble steals: 

Ashen regrets and inappeasable fears, 

Spectres of good deeds still-born, spirit desires 

That perished of inanition, shadowy hopes 

Of service vast as empire of the Popes 

That withered in the heat of passions' fires. 

O soul of souls, the years of my dead life — 

God's mercy on them! — but for your matchless love, 

To rival which ever in vain I strove. 

Had been like music of a broken fife 

In hands of one whose soul with love afire 
Could not, for its defects, voice love's desire ! 



46 



XLI 

What other soul could my soul love as yours? 

Beauty more rare, I've known, emotion-lit. 

More subtly sensuous charms and sprightlier wit, 

But never soul that ampler love inures. 

O heart, with you is neither better nor worse, 

Nor white nor black, nor idle rich nor poor. 

Sinner nor saint, renowned savant nor boor — 

Your soul immures all of God's universe! 

Love is your life. The fragrant flower you touch 

Yields richer perfume. Mercy follows you 

As quickened life revivifying dew; 

Nor doubt I your own love for me is such 

In purity as is an angel's breath. 

Than life more precious, stronger even than 
death. 



47 



XLII 

How lightly time has fallen on our love! 
Thrice more than thirty winters' icy breath, 
Fell harbinger of that dread monster, Death, 
Have sought vainly our love-right to disprove: 
The sheer monotony of household cares, 
The drudgery that waits on common toil, 
The racking anguish bred of ceaseless moil, 
The sickening task of plucking up rank tares, 
The rapier thrusts of envy-stricken hearts, 
The unkind kindness of reputed friends, 
The cruel jests that hate with malice blends, 
The virus that a spiteful soul imparts — 

All these, dear heart, most impotently strove. . 

How lightly time has fallen on our love! 



48 



XLIII 

Often I muse on that sweet day in youth 
When first I saw you unaware and felt 
Instant desire, all lesser passions melt 
And fuse by dint of first love's mystic truth 
Into one mighty passion, not uncouth 
With low impulse, but pure as though I knelt 
At love's high altar or in Elysium dwelt 
Withdrawn afar from man's constraint or ruth. 
Though time the leash has slipt since that sweet day 
And strands have silvered that were burnished gold ; 
Though wrinkles creep where roses used to play, 
Reminder, dear, that you are growing old. . . . 

Undimmed that memory still like jacynth ray 

Of Urim — in antique story told. 



49 



XLIV 

As one rapt with music of Paradise, 
So I that memorable day long years ago 
When softly you said "Yes." Love, the surprise 
Of that ecstatic moment none can know! 
The heavens opened and I passed within, 
Earth and its sordid cares clean out of sight; 
The angels sang to me — I seemed akin 
To seraph souls that know nor day nor night 
But only one unending bliss with God! 
Strange that three simple letters voiced by you, 
The music of one softly-spoken word, 
My soul from earth to heavenly portals drew! 
Ah, love, as well expect a star to capture 
As I forget aught of that matchless rapture! 



50 



XLV 

The fresh May wind blew softly on us twain, 
The maple leaves bent low and whispered love, 
From the deep stillness of a cedar grove 
A mock-bird trilled his rapture sovereign. 
The field lark whistled notes of gladdest cheer, 
The crows with raucous caw flapped gaily by, 
The lush grass in a fragrant meadow nigh 
Breathed redolence of joy unstained by tear. 
What bliss it was that day to be alive 
And walk in adoration by your side: 
To yearn the passing moment might abide 
Eternal — that no further my soul strive ! 
O radiant memory of our maiden stroll. 
How rich am I thru years of loving toll! 



51 



XLVI 

When summer's majesty I see decline 
As autumn with his blighting frost draws near, 
I hate that Death in this should give me sign 
Of his fell purpose — that a life so dear 
To mine own soul must from my soul be riven, 
Perhaps when life and love, conjunct in joy. 
Confederate in sweet hopes, of misdeeds shriven. 
Have loosed them from the grosser things that cloy 
And fetter the soul's free movements. . . . Loathed, 

the thought 
That ambushes my plans and haunts me day 
And night with stressful fears like spectres wrought 
Of a mind diseased pervious to quick decay! 
But this churl Death, obdurate though he be. 
Knows well your soul he can not filch from me. 



52 



XLVII 

I've heard men prate of love in the same breath 
They praised their dogs, their caddies, flippantly, 
As God's fools sometimes slaver about death, 
Or Brahman speaks of pariah, scornfully. 
I've known men at the marriage altar vow 
To cherish love eternally — and before 
The fragrant bridal flowers had withered somehow 
Give love a mortal stab. . . . Dearest, the ore 
With others may run thin, play out, its lead 
May crop forth and the lure end ... as for me — 
The vein but widens as the years recede 
And richer grows; therefore unfalteringly 
I face old age with stout heart confident 
That never shall love find me indigent. 



53 



XLVIII 

Beloved, when our two souls stand face to face 
In presence of Him who judges small and great, 
Will your soul, awed by Love's compelling grace. 
Plead for my soul that it be spared a fate 
Worse than Nirvana? For I'm conscious, love, 
Abashed, of my own soul's stark indigence. 
While you shall need no word of mine to prove 
Your own soul's richly jeweled opulence. 
Oh, in that moment when by His just word 
I may for countless aeons be rapt from you. 
Will you not intercede with our dear Lxjrd 
That whither your soul fares my soul fare too ? 

Pardon I crave for this so selfish plea. . . . 

I can bear all He sends with you near me. 



54 



XLIX 

Love must be granted its hyperboles, 
For souls that breathe great passions each to each 
Find common terms inept and in sweet orgies 
Of honeyed phrases revel w^ithout breach 
Of love's decorum . . . ; justly so, yet when 
Their passion stalks across the printed page 
Restraint becomes seemly. Forgive me then 
If my cold lines to your soul give umbrage 
In that you miss those nameless epithets. 
The thousand sugared words we lovers use 
And prize so, cryptic turns of thought, assets 
None but a loveless fool would dare refuse. 
Does this suffice, or have I vainly striven, 
Before your soul's confessional still unshriven? 



55 



Dearest, these fifty sonnets love-enchained — 
One for each twelvemonth God has vouchsafed 

you — 
Nurslings of an affection heaven-ordained 
And chrismed with joy, like dead soul born anew, 
I lay now at your feet. What though with cold, 
Critical breath the world exhale disdain, 
And some to whom no secrets love has told 
Ciy "Fie!" ... If you but stoop to lift them, 

fain 
Am I to reck aught else . . . and, dearest, as you 
Have often pressed wild flowers to your breast, 
Azaleas fair, pale lilies — even rue, 
Smile graciously on this my love's behest: 

Enfold within your heart these yearning lines 
Wherein my soul its secrets sweet enshrines! 



56 



